Fatality is Ghosts in The Snow
by neophobia
Summary: He's going through his first changing..


The young male slipped out into the open wild, shaking already, quivering in eager anticipation of what was about to happen. Wrapping the old, loose coat, he joined the four of his older brothers. He was the youngest, and although he hated admitting that he was related to the four men, he wouldn't have changed them for anything. They were perfect the way they were.

The eldest bent over to him, pushing his own gelled hair backwards, so that their eyes were level, in the slightly afraid violet eyes met reassuring blue ones. "Don't worry," the man opposite him breathed gently, extending a hand - the same hand that had grabbed axes and mutilated people right before his sights - and caressing him gently, nothing but love in the gesture. "I promise you, Emil." His full name was being used, but the tone wasn't angry nor like that of a drunk's. "I'll stop if you say the word."

"Why am I here again?" Emil squeaked out, feeling his dinner threatening to emerge, and with difficult control, pushed it back. He wasn't a weakling! He wasn't going to hurl anything. Lifting his head, pushing back from the gentle hand - not because of fear, but because of dislike of being touched, his eyes locked with the male who was looking on, observing silently. The same way he stared at me during the Age of the Sturlungs, letting me stab myself over and over, a bitter voice echoed in his head, before being muted.

If the other detected any signs of a sudden darkening in thoughts, he made no attempts to show so. "Because you keep asking us to let you experience The Changing, and you want to discover what animals we are?" A mocking tone showed, as if any patience the man had for his little brother had waned thin with the showing fright, and the youngest couldn't help but flinch into the waiting hand of the eldest seeking comfort, He hated being mocked. Hated it with a burning passion.

"Lukas," the clipped tone of the tallest male echoed through the snowy plain they stood in. "Leave your brother be."

Your brother. As if he wasn't a part of the family he secretly longed for. Perhaps the male sensed this, because he hastened to open his mouth to patch up what he said, and realising there was no way to recover from what he said, relapsed back into silence., flinching as Emil's eyes turned quickly hostile, half-threatening. But the eldest snapped out, "Our brother. And if you don't want to admit he's your kin, then he'll remain mine."

He shook his head as he heard those words, wondering why the family that appeared so perfect to others, was inside as fractured as any other family. But now the tension was rising, and he didn't want that to happen. He just wanted to go through The Changing and be done over with. Feeling the hand which had been gently stroking his cheek fade away, he gave a watery grin, catching the eyes of the last brother, who had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal, but finally now spoke. "Are you ready to become a puffin?" The unusual accent - different than all his brothers - sounded unusually melodic.

No one knew what animal they were going to become through the first changing, but it had been assumed by everyone, that due to his undying love to puffins, he was going to become one. "I'm ready to see which animals my siblings are." he responded. He hadn't been allowed to see all those changings of his brothers before, due to strong animalistic instincts that could potentially be dangerous. But today, he would. He would see his brothers in the form they were most comfortable in.

"Matthias," the eldest dipped his head, acknowledging himself, "Lukas," the impatient male gave a gentle smile, suddenly filled with warmth and affection, "Berwald," he was starting to pick the pace up, breathing faster and faster, white puffs of smoke emerging, "Valentino," the different brother lifted his head, and Emil spread his arms clearly. "Undress me."

Hands swarmed over, exposing him to the bitter cold, and within seconds he was stark naked, everything removed - even down to his boxers, and he was shaking and grasping at his lithe body. But he knew what was expected of him. He'd been told time and time over what he was to do. He was still an apprentice in comparison to them. There were many rules still to be imposed on him. One by one, he undressed all his brothers, stopping between each one to do half a jog to keep himself warm. Staring, he felt a sudden wave of love at the tattoos on all his brother's bodies, each somehow representing their family. He had never realised how heavily tattooed they were, and how much the family meant. Extending a hesitant hand to trace the runic writing of his name on the eldest's body. "Do you think I can get any?" He asked hopefully, and was rewarded with a ruffle of his pale hair, and a gruff "We'll see, child."

Nodding, he grasped his brother's cold hands, and gave a gulp. This was how he was to Change - via lent power. "One," he started, proceeding on, as slowly as he could, so that he could postpone the inevitable pain, for as long as he could. He wanted to do it, but at the same time he didn't. As his mouth finally released the word "five" he heard Matthias' voice, unusually grim. "Imagine your body changing."

He could feel the taunt muscles behind him dissolve, the hand losing it's shape, and he concentrated. He concentrated on the idea of his body being much more warmer, suiting the weather, and less-clear vision, and him not being human, and he felt something click in his brain.

And then,

Hell was unleashed onto his body.

He could feel his body constricted, as if he was in a straitjacket, and he was sinking into the snow, doubled over, retching blood. Everything he saw was losing it's color, as if someone had put a grayscale filter onto his eyes. He could see his silvery-blond hair falling apart faster than someone with cancer, and something was coming out, tiny needles breaking through his skin. He could feel his ears move up, and his mouth stretch out into a muzzle, and he was projectile-vomiting blood now. The tailbone, oh god, why did it hurt so fucking much to get a single tail, he was panting now, the straitjacket was getting tighter, and his arms and legs were being pulled inwards, and, and… everything stopped.

He was on the snow panting, and the senses hit him. How crystal-clear everything smelt, how he could hear everything - the frantic beating of his sibling's hearts - and he lifted his head to see. The first thing he saw was blood on the floor - what he had thrown up. Clearly, every time hurt, because even Matthias who was most experience has retched a few drops of blood. Startled by the war-like zone, he began backing, straight into strong wings. Whirling around, he could just make the magnetic figure of a large, rather beautiful swan, with it's wings outstretched. It had a familiar smell of musk, that comforted the confused male. "Mattie?" he tried to say, but all that came out was a rather high yip.

The swan understood though, what was meant by that tiny yip, and it's beautiful neck arched agreeingly, in a mock-nod, and with his wing he gestured towards the Arctic ocean, and Emil turned around. Then let out a high, terrified yelp. Not sixty meters away from him, a narwhal breached, spraying salty water all over. Sensing his brother's fright, the swan flew ahead, making friendly gestures towards the whale, which responded back by spraying water.

One of us, huh..?

Hesitantly he stepped forward, yelping as he heard heavy footfalls behind him, as the family stood complete, and united, at the edge of the river. He wasn't the expected puffin - rather a cute Arctic fox, but that's what made him special.

He was never what was expected.

Snow cascading down, masking the hunters, as the utopia warped into a


End file.
